The Apprentice
by Eve Nessa
Summary: Dominic Stone has found himself under the mercy of V, but V is not what he seems. He is also surprised when a another guest enters the Shadow Gallery. What does V plan do with the two of them?


**A Fanfic brought to you by…Eve Nessa: AKA: Vanessa Evelyn**

Disclaimer: Hey, you know the drill: I don't own these characters and this is purely to kill free time.

**A/N:** Yes, this is strictly comic-verse. **For those of you who are unfamiliar with the comic**: Evey replaces V in the end by donning his cloak and mask. She blows up Downing Street, destroying the 'Head' of London and giving V a Viking funeral in his subway train with all his funeral flowers (not roses, but gelignite and lilies). While she does all this, an unconscious Dominic Stone is lying on the floor of the Shadow Gallery. The prologue starts while V is still alive. Act One starts when Evey returns from watching Downing Street blow up.

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**V for Vendetta (Comic-Verse)**

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**The Apprentice**

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_Prologue - Eve  
_

In the cloudy streets of London, a city long ago blackened by smog and pollutions, there was a building that went unnoticed. It was abandoned and empty, or so people though. All its large doors were barred of with chains and iron bars so no one could get in… at least, nobody thought anyone could get in. And the sign above these doors red "Victoria Station.

Victoria Station stood as a surviving remnant of an age forgotten through devastating wars and civil turmoil. But inside Victoria Station lay all that the London had thrown away. In the shadows of Victoria Station lay the Shadow Gallery.

Tonight the gallery was filled with silence. A shadow darker than all others crept its way through the long corridors, stopping occasionally to admire a piece of art or fondly flip through the pages of a well-used book. Then the shadow came across a door. There was no art outside it to admire, it was the art inside that was of the most interest.

Light sliced into the dark room like a knife from the open door. It cut across a female form that shifted restlessly in the night on her bed. One eye caught the light and squinted before turning away. Her body then settled and she seemed at peace.

Out of the darkness crept a hand, darker than shadow, and it reached; reached onto the bed, across her form, and to her face. A shadow as dark as the disembodied hand loomed over the bed, but attached to that shadow was a pale one with a frozen smile spread wide across its surface with high boney cheeks. Innocently unaware she shifted in her restless sleep, bothered by her dream. The hand glided like air over her curves and to her face, several inches apart but still felt by the sleeping form. The blackest fingers of the blackest hand reached to touch her cheek, and a thumb reached to touch her lips. Her lips parted as it approached, the hand just hovering over her gentle flesh. Ever so slightly, it moved to touch. A deep voice spoke, the air resonating with its sound, "_You will be everything I am Eve, and more. I promise you. You will be beautiful; a Masterpiece. You will be…"_

There was a sharp intake of breath and the hand vanished. Eyes fluttered open like a butterfly with dewy wings. She sat up, "V?" she whispered tentatively. Yet not even the blackest of the shadows answered. Wrapping the comforter tighter around her, she settled back down and slept.

Sometime later the light was extinguished as the door shut in the silence of the Shadow Gallery.

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_Act One –_ _Foundations for Anarchy_

_Scene One – V_

_November 9th, 1998_

Evey looked into the mirror and smiled, but it wasn't her smile she saw; it was V's. And at that moment she realized then who V really was. V wasn't a normal person, he was an idea, but even ideas need bodies and even ideas have faces. Long ago she came to terms that V wasn't her father, she was desperate for him to be, after all he was a character out of a book and those kinds of things happened in books so she thought maybe he was. It was the same year afterall… but no, he wasn't her father, that was one of the few things he ever said straightforward to her and she believed him. Instead, he had carefully showed himself to her: her education, the prison, her freedom were all parts of a maze of events that led to one thing: her birth. V's birth; the new V.

_Scene Two – The New Apprentice_

Dominc Stone lay on the cold floor of the Shadow Gallery with a concussion. The mob had hit him fairly hard in the back of the head with a stone; at least, as far as he would ever guess, he thought it was a stone. Who knew a mob could out power a team of armored men? The men had fired; dozens of rioters dead within seconds, but the reality was that there were only a few dozen men with guns against a mob of hundreds. The line of men had turned fleeing almost immediately after the first shots were fired. When Dominic had began running an object had hit him behind the head, he staggered, still managing to run- it was all he could do- he ran dizzily and came too close to the ally. A hand jerked him in and before he knew it, he was in the air. He watched the mob enter the ally, angry, and then when he realized he wasn't there they rejoined the mob as if the mob itself was a creature in its own right and they were merely cells. In his daze, he looked up and, through a vision that was comparable to the rippling of water in the pond, he saw the Guy Fawkes mask looking back at him. Suffice to say, it was too much for his head and he passed out.

The young detective wasn't aware of the cold floor or how hard it was. There was pain in his head, stopping him from thinking and dream. He hung in the space of his mind like lost boat in the ocean; and the ocean was pain.

Then a hand touched his cheek. It took a moment to register it, for his eyes to flutter open and remember who he was. The place was unfamiliar, he saw stone walls. No place in London had walls like that anymore. "Mwhuh…?" He started groggily, turning to the figure kneeling above him, "Where…?"

A white, boney face smiled back at him and the figure stood up. "Oh." Dominic said upon realization, "Oh Jesus."

V only smiled in the eerie yellow light. "Welcome young man. I trust you are recovered quite from your ordeal? As for your question…" The terrorist paused, something Dominic thought only characters in movies and television shows did. To see a real person do it was just… weird. But at the same time, he wanted to know where he was, and V was building his anticipation. "We are in the Shadow Gallery."

Dramatically, the figure turned around in a solemn gesture and said, "This is my home."

Dominic propped himself on his elbows and looked around. "It's quite dark."

V laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle, "That it is." then strode in the shadows of the corridor.

"Hey! Wait!" The detective clumsily gathered himself up on his feet, his head reeling. Putting his right hand to his forehead he realized he had a bandage wrapped around his head. Did the terrorist really save him? Why?

V disappeared down the hall and Dominic stumbled clumsily after him. His captor's voice rolled smoothly off the stones of the corridor as the young man followed him "I suppose that I am committing a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul."

Dominic paused, "Is that Sherlock Holmes?" When the cloaked man didn't answer, but instead started to ascend a spiraled case of stairs, Dominic got the tiniest inkling that this was something he did a lot of. Regardless of man's lack of sanity, Dominic obediently followed him up the stairs. What drove the detective to follow him the most was the pressing desire to know who V was. He knew about Larkhill, and the budding detective knew why he systematically killed those involved, but he did not understand V. Why anarchy? Why control Fate? The last question made his mind pause; it seemed almost poetic. Could that be the reason? _Poetry?_ But that'd be insane… Oh.

They were now walking down another corridor as Dominic starred at V's back in the realization that the answer didn't have to be sane at all. Just like the arrangement of resources of the floor of his cell in Larkhill. It looked like madness, but at the same time it was obvious there was a system to it. It may have been an insane system but, from the insane person's perspective, it must have looked completely logical to the man in room five.

V opened a door and, with a sweep of his cloak, led Dominic inside. He starred in awe at the many rows of books, paintings, posters, and statues. There was a table set up in the centre with a tea tray on top.

The terrorist ushered the detective to sit and then took the sit opposite of him. V took a cup of tea to the lips of his mask but Dominic noted he was only pretending to drink. The young man sipped his tea suspiciously. He didn't think the terrorist would go through all the trouble of treating his concussion if he intended to poison his tea. "So this is the Shadow Gallery…"

"Yes." V's back became suddenly erect and he clasped his hands in front of himself excitedly, "Do you like it? I built it myself you know."

"I'm sure. You probably stole most of it too."

V's body language resumed to normal with an air of disappointment, "Nothing that the government wasn't already intent on stealing from the eyes, ears, and mouths of others." The last few words came off as angry and strained. Dominic thought it might be best not to excite his captor any further.

"So I know the name of your home, but I do not know yours." He said, feeling the need for a change in topic.

"I think of all people detective you would be tired of hearing that answer the most."

Dominic cleared his throat, "That's right. I'm sorry, you have no name."

"You may call me _'V'_." The man made another fake sip of his tea then added, "What shall I call you?"

"I am Dominic Stone."

The mask seemed to tilt. "_Stone_…_ S-t-o-n-e_." the letters faded into an inaudible whisper. The silence that V's words faded into made Dominic feel uneasy "And what story does _Stone_ have to tell? Will his story stoccado into our stoic hearts and stoke its fires? Or will we be ever left stonehearted? I should very much like to hear Dominic Stone's story."

He finished off his tea and set it on the table, "My story?"

"Yes."

Dominic looked sideways at the tilted mask and sighed, there wasn't much else to be done except to humor his captor. He could resist, maybe even knock the guy out, but Dominic didn't know where he was and he assumed he was safer here than outside while the streets ran with anarchy. Anyone in authority was probably in a lot of danger at this point. After a moment's thought Dominic began with what he thought was the most appropriate, "I was born in 1964…"

_Scene Three – Rosemary Almond_

Somewhere, in a dark and cold room a woman screamed before being abruptly cut off by the gurgling sound of water being forced into lungs. She looked much older than she was, even after only a few hours of torture. Rosemary was half-drowned and dizzy, only half understanding what the man in front of her said before they pushed her head back in the water. "…ask you one more time: is this the man that hired you?"

Her eyes took a moment to focus, that moment feeling like an eternity to her. The man held a photo of the terrorist in front of her. The guard held her face up to see, his strong hands groping her face. "No…" She croaked and her head went back in the water.

There were words exchanged between the men there. There were four men in the room and she couldn't see them well, but she recognized the light brown business coat of Creedy. She saw none of their faces in the dark lighting, but she imagined the man standing behind him to be Dominic Stone since she knew he was investigating the terrorist case. It was comforting in some way to think she knew some of their names.

They were probably thinking there's no way she would do it unless she was paid, but that would be her little secret. If they associated her with Codename V, then she was better for it. It made her look important. People would remember her. They'd all ask why she killed Adam James Susan, but they'd never get the answer, she'll be dead soon. Soon they'll realize she won't answer their questions and then they'll execute her and she'd be better for it.

They took everything from her; everything. She never asked for much, she never asked for her husband to be perfect or nice, just as long as she could live. However, they took her life away, they took her chance at another life away, and they made her into a whore. It wasn't living. So she took the life of the person who took it away from her; the person who sent her husband to die and left her with nothing. They weren't going to take that away from her. They couldn't take that away from her. It was hers and it would always be hers. She killed Adam James Susan and she was _free_.

They couldn't touch her anymore.

A wide, abnormal smile spread itself across her face as her guard dragged her out of the room. They took her to another room, and she felt them cut her hair roughly with scissors and then shave the rest off with a razor. That's okay; she didn't need to look pretty anymore. She was thankful to look ugly- which she assumed she did. It meant no one would touch her again. They would be repulsed by her exhausted body and bald head, sex would be the last thing on their minds. Oh, how thankful she was of that.

Back in her cell she slept for a long time; at least it felt like she did. A rustling sound woke her up. A rat? Yes that was it. She picked up the food dish instinctively and crawled to the edge of her cell with it. The rat needed the food more than she did, but the rat wasn't there. Instead she saw something pale and folded in the small hole. Rosemary reached in and pulled a long strip of toilet paper out. It had words written on it. Immediately she checked the last page for a signature. "Valerie…" She tested the name out on her tongue.

Rosemary read the letter for a long time with wide eyes filled with awe. Her hands trembled as she read. _"Yes… Yes… Yes…"_ The words came out like a trance. As she read she quietly murmured the words to herself,Tears streamed down her face as she finished reading. She kissed the wall above the hole. "… Thank you." She whispered, "I won't let them take it. Thank you…"

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_Dedicated to Tom_


End file.
